Terms of Endearment
by the.clairvoyance
Summary: "Why are so many terms of endearment named after things that you can eat; doesn't it seem a little cannibalistic to you guys?" Emily Prentiss becomes a little more affectionate.


**Terms of Endearment**

**Disclaimer:** *Fingers crossed* One of these days, one of these days it will be mine!

**Genres: **Friendship/Humour.

**Rating: **K+ for minor language and case related angst.

**Spoilers:** Everything up to the end of "A Thousand Words" (5x20)

**Summary:** "Why are so many terms of endearment named after things that you can eat; doesn't it seem a little cannibalistic to you guys?" Emily Prentiss becomes a little more affectionate.

**Dedication: **For the awesomeness that is JJ / Garcia / Emily friendship.

**Author's Comment: **Last night I was watching the Criminal Minds' episode "A Thousand Words" and two scenes concocted this idea in my head. But besides that I would also like to try and stick to the concept of a one shot for once instead of making the story multi-chapter xD.

* * *

_"The affections are like lightning: you cannot tell where they will strike till they have fallen."_

_~ Jean Baptiste Lacordaire_

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* * *

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_So early that people still say "night"  
Wednesday September 22nd 2010  
The Behavioral Analysis Unit Jet_

The progression had been a slow and steady, rather subtle, and totally unintended one. In fact it was so cleverly disguised that I, a seasoned profiler, had not even noticed in its early stages.

However, as time went on and the situations became more frequent instead of far and few in between, I started picking up on it more and with each passing circumstance it made its way from rare to common to habit and I don't think that she had any say in the matter whatsoever. I know that if I call her out on it she will likely claim that it is Garcia rubbing off on her or that she truly feels like a member of the team now, a member of a family. That may be it exactly: her comfortableness. It is not like Emily Prentiss to be very open about her emotions and not so much because she doesn't trust people—although she's had good reasons not to in the past—but because she doesn't like to burden other people with herself nor does she want to appear weak. But her doing this, as normal as it may be for any number of people, sounds absolutely lovely on Prentiss.

I don't think that Prentiss even realizes that she is doing it but that is one of the reasons why I like it so much coming from her. I have spent so much time watching and listening from the sidelines, seeing the shift take place, that I hadn't even considered that in would branch out to me. For some strange reason I believed myself to be inept to it, however Emily has proven me wrong on a number of occasions so I guess my surprise is a bit unjustified, still it _had _been a bit out of the ordinary. The rest of the jet is quiet, everyone fast asleep, so I take a moment to reflect rather than inducing carpal tunnel in my left hand by finishing signing my paperwork.

* * *

_Way too early to be in the office  
Monday September 13th 2010  
Behavioral Analyst Unit Bullpen_

I feel a twinge of guilt "requesting" that the team get here extra early this morning but double homicide waits for no agent, regardless of sleeping patterns and non-work related plans; now just try explaining that to a team of overly worked and utterly exhausted supervisory special agents. Even me, who likes to come in before everyone else, is a still rundown from my weekend and I wish that I could press the pause button and come back into work after another two or three hour nap.

I probably slept a total of seventeen hours the entire weekend and if I'm correct the average person should be sleeping for eight hours a day. Obviously the average person does not have such a demanding job or a son at home who barely gets to see his father. If I'm not in my office at the BAU, I'm jetting across the country to work a new case, and if it happens to be a weekend that I can actually spend at home I'm trying to be Super-Dad to my son, Jack. And now that I realize it, my busy schedule may have something to do with the fact that this is my second cup of coffee this morning and I've only been in the office shy of fifteen minutes. We've got a long day ahead of us.

From my office window where I'm cleaning up my desk and preparing for the briefing I can see Reid at the coffee machine, Morgan tiredly rubbing his eyes at his desk, and Rossi exiting the elevator; I repress a yawn and for just a second wonder what getting a good night's sleep feels like. A knock on my door breaks me from my thoughts and I call out for whomever it is to enter. Popping her head in my door, JJ is clutching a few files and informs me that she would like to begin the briefing ASAP. I nod, grabbing my newly filled travel mug of coffee, and the media liaison leads out of my office. The guys see JJ and I heading towards the conference room and take that as their cue to follow, coffees in tow.

"Good morning, everyone." I hope to begin this briefing on a lighter note because I know that crime scene is everything but. It is also Monday and no one should be that awake at five after six in the morning. "JJ has accepted a case with a double homicide; young girls."

I'm about to continue when something catches the corner of my eye. Everyone turns to face the door so I guess everybody else saw it too.

"Whoa! Slow down there Flash." Morgan states with his hands up in mock surrender as Emily collapses in the first chair that she sees.

I raise my eyebrows at the rumpled business suit jacket that Prentiss clearly threw on as well as her half damp hair that she has knotted into a falling apart bun. She gasps a little for air and even though she looks like a completely disorganized wreck _and_ she is late, Prentiss is beaming; her face is flushed and clean of any trace of makeup but she is glowing from the inside out and it is a little unbelievable that anyone could be that naturally happy this early in the morning. Hell, even _I'm_ not that awake yet.

"So sorry I'm late, Hotch." She apologizes although the smile in her eyes is still evident. "And sorry for the wardrobe; I was working out when you called and this was the first thing that I found when I got out of the shower."

Not yet awake enough to do anything but tell the team about our most recent case, board the jet, and consequently fall back asleep, I let it go for now and opt to explain why we think the Unsub was a woman and that these girls were related somehow. When Garcia shows up on the computer screen via web-cam, Emily asks our technical analyst to pull up Missing Persons reports for the past year as well as girls who's family's were being inspected by Family and Children services since we have a few theories about it being a mother or other parental figure.

"And you're looking for sisters?" Garcia asks, adjusting her glasses as she taps away at her computer.

"At this point we're not certain since the victims could have been biologically related or adopted into the same family." Emily corrects, totally immersed in the case already with that passion and drive we've seen from Prentiss since day one. In record time, Garcia sends my PDA a list of girls from Newport, Oregon between the age of five and fifteen in the foster system as well as Missing Persons.

"Thanks, babe." Prentiss says to the computer screen where I can see Garcia's eyes light right up. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

Morgan adds his own appreciation, a comment that if Strauss heard would make for a hissy-fit on my hands; I remain silent and try not to smile.

"No problemo, my dear darling do-gooders!" Our favourite energetic and ecstatic TA signs off and we're left with a black screen and JJ reminding us that the wheels go up in thirty.

* * *

_32 minutes after "way too early"  
Monday September 13th 2010  
The Behavioral Analyst Unit Jet_

Half asleep on the jet's couch, Morgan is listening to his music on a low setting with his eyes shut enough to tell everyone not to disturb him. Reid has made himself comfortable in one of the individual seats, his eyes on a new book, reading just as quickly as ever despite his sleepiness. Next to one another, JJ and Prentiss are chatting amiably although the blonde still has light rings under her eyes unlike her brunette opposite, who is just as refreshed as ever. Even though I am much more conscious now that I've had a chance to really wake up, I still don't understand how Prentiss manages to stay so alert so early in the morning when she hasn't had a single cup of coffee yet. Simply unfathomable. Across from me, Dave is reading the newspaper, skipping to the weather and sports sections. I'm working on my laptop instead of my usual never-ending pile of paperwork. At the moment I'm e-mailing my mother back, who, in her last message, told me about the new car that she bought. Personally, I'm pretty impressed that my mother knows how to use a computer, let alone the e-mail function, but then again my mother loves to learn new things and she doesn't like to live in the past that much either. I appreciate that aspect of her and so I tell her that in my message.

"I'm getting some coffee," JJ says to Emily, not aware of how quiet the rest of the jet is but we don't mind, no one's really asleep anyway. "Would you like anything, Emily?"

"Tea please." She replies, her hair now tied up in a neatly brushed and dried ponytail. When JJ leaves to get their drinks, Emily flicks through what looks like a magazine, a smile still curling her lips. The insatiable desire to know what has made the SSA so happy stirs in my stomach but I haven't got a clue what her response would be. Aren't people just allowed to be happy without reason? And if she is I'm glad for her, in anything I'd like to share in that happiness. I'd like her to know that me, as well as the rest of the team, want to be both happy _for_ her and _with_ her.

"Here you go," JJ places a mug of tea in front of Emily, who smiles and sips it. The warmth rises over her cheeks and her smile reaches her eyes.

"Thanks, sweetie." Emily takes another long sip from her tea and flips through the magazine again.

I'll wait a few minutes to let everyone have a couple precious moments without murder and heartbreak on their minds before I have to bring them back to the dark side of our job, which is something that I really wish I didn't have to do so often. I press the send button my e-mail and smile when I see my desktop, which is a picture of my son Jack, my brother Sean, and myself that Haley had snapped on the last fourth of July that we had spent as a married couple.

* * *

_After countless hours of working over-time  
Tuesday September 14th 2010  
Newport, Oregon, United States of America_

Dave and Emily are assigned to question a suspect while JJ has her hands full with the media getting wind of a second set of bodies, this time two boys around the same age as the girls. Reid is putting his geographic skills to work while Morgan and I are busy listening in on Prentiss and Rossi's interview. The team currently suspects a previous social worker who worked with two very special families, each one with a missing girl, one is eleven and the other is seven. Through the one-sided mirror we can see that the woman is keeping something to herself, refusing to disclose information, and from the looks of it whatever she is hiding is serious and related to the abductions.

This woman knows something about our victims that no one else does and cracking her will be harder than I had originally suspected seeing how she is being decidedly stubborn about what information she releases and what she chooses to shut up about. I'm also left wondering about the social worker's connection to the two boys, bodies that the local police department found out about when a couple of kids found remains near a well traveled forest trail earlier today. Apparently the children who had found the bodies were in the bush often, making forts and "exploring", there was vomit close to where the boys were found and we soon discovered that one of the kids had been sick upon seeing the deceased.

"What do you think she's hiding?" I ask Morgan who is standing beside me, arms crossed, and looking everything but all right.

"She's worked with the families and she got to know what the girls were going through; maybe she thought that she was protecting them?"

Our first victim, a preteen named Jesse, grew up in a cookie cutter middle class home with a loving and supportive mother and father, both of whom had refused to believe that their elder child was molesting his younger sister. According to her case file, after being abused by her brother one evening a few months ago, Jesse had held her breath under the water of the family's in-ground swimming pool in an attempt to kill herself. Apparently the next door neighbor had heard the splash and found Jesse dressed in her nightie but without underwear; Jesse had lost consciousness before the ambulance had arrived but received the proper attention she required, which was when the social worker had first met the family along side the police who had been called by the neighbor when they had pulled Jesse from the pool and all she could repeat was "I'm sorry" and her brother, Marcus', name.

"Then why kill them and dispose of the bodies? You'd think that she would want to adopt the girls, unofficially of course, and forge an emotional connection with them."

The younger girl, Kira, had been a victim of parental neglect. In fact the girl's medical records claimed that she was so underweight that she would often break bones participating in activities during gym class and recess; her teacher had made an effort to contact her parents and then the authorities when Kira came to school in the same outfit for three days straight, in desperate need of a shower, and no lunch but nothing came of it until the teacher, a fresh face right out of teachers' college, spotted Kira trying to steal food from a grocery store one weekday evening. The teacher had brought Kira back to the apartment that she shared with her fiancé, bathed and fed her, and stayed on the telephone until she was speaking to someone who could help the little girl. From what the police officers remember of the evening they showed up at the apartment that Kira had been staying at and the seven year old was wearing a Mötley Crüe t-shirt and a pair of workout shorts adjusted to fit her frail figure. Her skin had been eerily pale but her cheeks and teeth had food plastered across them from what her teacher had fed her.

"What if she thinks that they were better off dead?" Morgan says it and it sounds ugly and awful actually being spoken aloud but he already knows that.

I want to be disgusted that Morgan could even insinuate such a thing; I want to be enraged. I want it to not be something that could have run through this social worker's mind when she saw the home lives of Jesse and Kira, each one a disaster in their own rite. But I can't do that because the woman that Dave and Prentiss are interviewing keeps speaking about the victims' horrible living conditions and how the parents never deserved them anyway. Besides that the cause of death had been a less painful method and the crime scene set-up showed signs of remorse and guilt, something that only would have been done if the killer cared. As bad as it sounds I might prefer it if the Unsub did what they did because they were just hateful not because they thought that they were _saving _someone, I don't want anyone to think that committing murder is a favour. Actually I'd rather not have any Unsubs but that doesn't looks like it's going to happen any time soon.

A door whooshing open and clicking shut drag me from my thoughts about the case to my two bickering employees.

"You pushed her too hard, Prentiss." Rossi accuses although I know that he's not truly angry, just exhausted like the rest of us.

But Prentiss rebuts and that stubborn streak of hers is shining through. "She _needed_ it; we weren't going to get anything out of her otherwise!"

_"Emily."_

_Yes, Dave. _I encourage sarcastically. _"Emily" her since that is a brilliant move to make right about now._

"Oh, don't you dare start with me David Rossi."

_Ooh, first and last name._ For a moment I'm genuinely concerned for my long time friend. _Next she'll grit out the middle name._

"Well you're going to have a find a way in now since she's about a breath away from shutting down completely."

A fierceness takes over Emily's face, intensifying her will to prove Dave wrong and to crack the only person who seems to know anything about the two female victims and is the police department's prime suspect. I want to tell her to take a deep breath and consider that good cop/bad cop may not be the way to go right about now but once Emily has decided on something it would take a team of lawyers and one of those massive sized Hershey chocolate bars to convince her otherwise and I really don't think it's worth it this time. I watch Rossi pinch the bridge of his nose and massage his tension away while Prentiss tells her course of action, Morgan throwing in his own ideas to the brainstorming session until they have a new plan about how to question the social worker.

"Oh don't you worry Rossi _dearie_," Emily assures with such malice that it is almost impossible to believe that the term had ever been used affectionately instead of a cuss word. "If everything goes according to plan than _you_ owe _me_ lunch."

David Rossi, seasoned profiler and honest to God badass, rolls his eyes and follows Prentiss' lead as she practically storms back into the interrogation room.

* * *

_The first but not last caffeine hit of the day  
Wednesday September 15th 2010  
Newport, Oregon, United States of America_

Emily had been right about the interrogation, enjoyed her free meal, and was now in a much better mood than yesterday.

She and Rossi had managed to crack the social worker to nail her for the kidnapping and deaths of both girls but hadn't been able to connect her to the young boys. Nevertheless, Emily's face is graced with a smile this morning and she is obviously well-rested despite the fact that she went to bed second last (with myself being the final one to bed but that was a given) and was the very first to rise. Now she is speaking to one of the detectives working the case with us, case files in one hand and a Styrofoam cup full of coffee in the other.

When the detective that Prentiss has been talking to nods his head and heads in the opposite direction, she rejoins our group of half-asleep agents who are exhausted from the past few days, there is a small smile of accomplishment on her face and something twinkling in the rich darkness of her brown irises. I wonder how she does it, remain so chipper these past couple of days, that is but I'm cut off from asking (not as though I was going to anyway) by JJ voicing her love for her first coffee of the morning.

"Whoa there, Pretty Boy." Morgan's voice is full of warning and instinctively I look over in search of trouble and I'm met with the sight of Reid with severe bed-head, a half full Styrofoam cup of coffee, and a spoonful of sugar. But I've got to admit, Spencer Reid is pretty lethal before his first swig of half sugar - half coffee first thing in the morning.

"You're going to be diagnosed with diabetes if you keep drinking that much sugar first thing in the morning."

Now typically Reid would have an opposing opinion to defend himself with but the young genius hasn't actually had any of his drink yet this morning so I don't think that he could care less about what his fellow team-mates have to say before he can enjoy the high of his disgusting "coffee", if one could even call it that.

_"Ahh," _our team's youngest agent hums as he takes a more than generous gulp from his cup. "That, my friends, is Heaven in a cup."

On a logical level Dr Spencer Reid does not believe in "Heaven" but when it comes to his caffeine he has been known to make such declarations.

"Has much as it pains me to say it but Morgan is right." Emily states in a mock-serious voice, ignoring Morgan's very "as if" expression as well as JJ and Rossi's twin looks of amusement. "You've really got to cut back on the sugar, Sugar."

The team shakes their heads, humored and seemingly more relaxed, whilst Reid has a knit brow and a combined look of confusion and unimpressed written on his face.

"Why are so many terms of endearment named after things that you can eat? Doesn't it seem a little cannibalistic to you guys?"

The shared expression of _"it's only you, Reid" _is a dead giveaway and the young genius rolls his eyes and resumes guzzling his coffee.

"Maybe it's because they are like food and they're supposed to satisfy you?" Emily offers from behind the rim of her cup, receiving raised eyebrows and intrigued expressions from the rest of the team.

Reid shakes his head and informs Prentiss that the satisfaction you gain from consumption of delicious food is _completely_ different from the pleasure of emotional bond you share with another person with whom you are compatible unless she is referring to the boost of dopamine levels, in which case he can see where she is coming from. In response, Emily ruffles his already awry hair and come backs with, "It's only a phrase,_cupcake_."

Something gives me a feeling that today is going to be good day, all things considered.

* * *

_Late enough to be in bed but not yet asleep  
Wednesday September 15th 2010  
Newport, Oregon, United States of America_

It has been a difficult case, the ones with children always are, but working with the police department we had found two new victims, both in tact. Physically that is since emotionally I haven't got a clue. This time, unlike Jesse and Kira, the victims had been young boys. One was thirteen and the other nine, they were also half brothers that came from a home where their mother worked as a prostitute and her boyfriend, who was neither boys' father, was a cocaine addict. The only saving grace had been that we found them both alive and that their mother and her boyfriend would be persecuted to the full extent of the law for child endangerment, prostitution, and possession and use of an illegal substance. The other "bright side" had been that we nailed the social worker.

Yes, the Newport police, as well as our unit, can now tally this one as a "win" and it I cannot believe how incredibly depressing it is to consider this an accomplishment, taking two young boys from their mother and placing them in temporary families that they may not even get to be together in. And people wonder why I don't smile.

Thankfully the case is over now and the families can all begin to heal, it will take time but hopefully it will be worth it, and that leaves the BAU in a hotel with time to kill but no energy to do so. It is evenings like these that call for collapsing in bed and sleeping off the past few days, our only comfort being the bittersweet victory. My plan to retreat to my hotel room so that I call my son to apologize for not being home and to say goodnight before falling into a coma-esque state is interrupted by quiet, but apparently not quiet enough to not be heard, voices speaking to one another. It is my team. Supervisory special agents Reid, Prentiss, Morgan, and Rossi to be exact. The agents are sitting on both sides of the corridor with agents Reid and Prentiss beside one another as well as opposite to agents Morgan and Rossi who are sitting next to each other.

The conversation bounces back and forth like a tennis match, each member lobbying a tidbit of opinion to another, invested in their discussion but not exerting themselves by any means. Personally I don't understand it; shouldn't they _want_ to be in bed? I know, the pot calling the kettle black and other such adages, but right now I am feeling uncharacteristically weary and maybe this case took more out of me than what I had originally assumed.

"Hey Hotch," Reid's voice picks up as he takes notice of me coming down the hallway, having just departed from the elevator. "Getting ready for bed?"

I nod and don't say much and it isn't because I don't want to be included in the conversation but because I am _exhausted_, hell, I am barely walking as I drag my feet.

"What are you all doing on the floor anyway?" I ask once I have found my voice and my question is met only with identical expressions from my teammates. "Holding a protest against uncomfortable hotel rooms that the FBI keeps booking for us?"

This response receives mutual looks of amusement as they all push themselves off of the ground and on to their feet. Reid, a gentleman, offers his hand to help up Prentiss and she, even though she really doesn't have to, accepts it with a charming smile. Dave comments on how his spine can't handle anymore of this, although _this_ is not specified, and before the good doctor can prattle off statistics about bone structure and the process of human aging Morgan makes a jab at both the job _and_ Dave's age. Two birds, one stone.

"Do any of you know when we're leaving tomorrow?" Reid queries as we head towards five different doors.

I stop to inform everyone that wheels will be up shortly after breakfast time, which can be approximated to around nine o'clock in the morning but after that we all simply wish one another a good night and depart for the evening to the sanctuary of fresh scented linens and complementary chocolates on our pillows. Morgan and Reid soon disappear into their respective rooms and as I am entering my own I find that my footsteps are faltering, probably at the unexpected sound of conversation picking back up. Dave and Emily. I softly click my door shut once I am inside my makeshift bedroom I rest my forehead against the door, trying to release the day's tension. Then, even though something inside of me argues not to, I press my ear to the door and strain to listen.

_'It isn't eavesdropping if they're speaking in public,'_ is what I tell myself as I cup my ear in a vain attempt to keep foreign sounds out.

What I am doing is wrong, not to mention stupid and irrational. Why should I care about whatever it is that two agents of the same team, not to mention close friends, have to say to one another? I _shouldn't. _And_yet_ the insatiable desire to know is there, twisting and turning in my gut, demanding that I violate their rite to have some privacy. This is _pathetic_. Worse than that it is uncalled for. Then again, I_could_ always tack my "eavesdropping" up to my concern for both agents' well-beings considering how the interrogation went down the other day, one that had left Rossi _almost _unscathed and Prentiss steaming. Having managed to convince myself that what I am doing is a good intention, I listen carefully.

"I'm sorry about the other day," Prentiss' voice carries despite how light it is.

"No need to be, Prentiss." Rossi replies, his voice stable and impartial, akin to his voice of 'all knowing', which is usually heard when he is giving someone unappreciated advice or being correct, the annoying part of which is that he is usually proving the other person wrong.

"I should have handled the questioning better." She rebuts, ignoring Dave's attempt to shrug of her concerns. "I shouldn't have pushed her."

"It helped in the end." Dave points out and I agree with him, which is why I rarely doubt Prentiss' interrogation skills. "You went with your gut and two boys were saved."

There is some silence and I wonder if it is awkward or comfortable for either agent, I wonder, superstitiously, if they can tell that I am listening in.

"Thank you, caro." Her voice is soft, tired, and so _un-Emily_ for lack of a better term. I don't know what "caro" means but I've heard it used from time to time and since Prentiss is rather well-versed in numerous languages it wouldn't surprise me if it was kind of affectionate name.

"Ditto cara." His voice is rougher but the sentiment remains and I feel awful because it seems as though I am stepping in on an intimate moment.

I turn away from the door, having lost the will to listen any longer, and pick up my cellphone to call Jessica, even though Jack will be long since put to bed. I'll tell her how much it means to me to have someone as compassionate and supportive as her in mine and my son's life, I will tell her that Haley was so fortunate to have such a caring sister, and I will tell her how I will make it all to up her someday. Every afternoon that she had to pick Jack up from preschool and every dinner that I missed, all the "little things" that I skipped so that I could be someone else's Superman.

If I have learned _anything_ from my job it is that family and friends are important and not to be taken for granted, that they, just like the victims we see day in and day out, may be here one minute and gone the next. I may not be the best as expressing that but I'm sure that the people closest to me are aware of it, although I am beginning to believe that I should tell them directly every now and then. This job may very well be the rest of my life and the team may come and go but I refuse to lose anymore people than I already have. The phone is ringing, waiting to be answered.

"Jessica? Yeah, it's me. Sorry for the late call it has just been... yeah, exactly. Is Jack still up? Of course not, oh no, don't wake him. Thanks so much, Jess... for everything. You never cease to amaze me, really. Goodnight Jess, I love you guys. Mm-hmm, see you soon."

* * *

_During a nutritious and delicious breakfast  
Thursday September 16th 2010  
Newport, Oregon, United States of America_

We stay for the complimentary breakfast because, well it's _complimentary_, and because I think we're all just a little sick of eating meals on the jet.

"Try chewing and _then_ swallowing, Prentiss."

Morgan and Prentiss have been at it all morning, picking on one another and, of course, the youngest and most intelligent member of our team. Reid, however, is taking the jostling with ease, almost amused by the other agents' behaviour.

"Well I'm sorry," Emily replies as she swallows a bite out of her French toast although she doesn't sound the least bit apologetic. "Some of us don't take _girly_ portions like yours, Morgan. I need a proper meal or at least a two cups of coffee before I'm up to thinking speed."

'Girly' is hardly the proper term to explain the mess of scrambled eggs and the thick and floppy pieces of French toast that fill up Morgan's plate. However, once someone looks between the dark-skinned agent, one can see how Prentiss' teasing would have been suitable given the circumstances. Seated on Morgan's right is David Rossi, who usually doesn't have quite an appetite but appears to be _starving_ this morning. There are two slices of thick French toast, a mountain of scrambled eggs, a couple of strips of so greasy they just might slip out of his hands bacon and tall glass of refreshingly cold orange juice. Emily, who is currently sitting on Morgan's left, has a portion with a little less than Dave's, although it is her second serving.

It is amazing to see where the brunette puts it all because even though Derek is teasing her about vacuuming her breakfast up she has been taking decent sized bites and equally it out with random gulps of water. I had never noticed before this morning just how much water Emily drinks since she has probably polished off three bottles of the stuff already; she must have a bladder of steel. I take a bite out of my own breakfast, which is plain ol' bacon and eggs, before taking a swig out of my black coffee. How long has it been since we've all had a nice sit down meal together that didn't involve take out? Weeks likely, months even. But now we are still short a member since Garcia is back home in Quantico, having spent the night in her own bed.

"Please Princess, all I can see of your plate is blurring motions." Morgan jeers whilst chugging the rest of his orange juice.

Emily, with an incredible degree of grace and maturity, flicks some of her eggs at Derek's bald head and snorts in laughter when it catches his ear. "Fine," she replies saucily once he begins picking the eggs off of him. "Have some of mine."

"Oh do not make me whip some of this French toast your way, Prentiss."

Ah,_now_ I remember why we don't have sit down meals together;_this_ always seems to follow.

"Calm down, children." JJ chides from my right side with a somewhat amused expression on her face. "Or I'll make you both sit in opposite corners."

Dave smirks at our friend's threat as if she really isn't being all that serious; the sad part is that JJ is being_completely_ honest and will very likely separate the two bickering agents. Squeaking the slightest bit, Reid jumps up in his seat as Morgan's scrambled eggs sore across the table and land on the ground, having missed a smirking Prentiss completely. For everyone's sake I hope that Morgan learns to stop underestimating the ambassador's daughter's grace and agility, since in all my time knowing Emily Prentiss, she has been an expert on deflection, both physical and otherwise.

"Having some difficulty with your aim, agent Morgan?" Prentiss wonders with a teasing edge to her tone. Her eyes are lit up from the inside out and she is smiling wickedly, and it is clear that she is having _way_ too much fun with flinging her meal rather than actually consuming it.

"Never, Princess." He rebuts as he tears at his last piece of French toast. "I just like seeing the good doctor have one of his spastic episodes."

Unsurprisingly but nonetheless of humorously, Reid pounces on the jab with a "hey!" and the argument that his "jumpiness" is the result of the sugar that he has been adding (more like dumping) into his coffee this morning.

"Well don't worry darling, I won't tell _anyone_ about your trigger trouble."

JJ, watching with an avid interest in the back and forth between Emily and Derek, chuckles into her coffee whilst Dave chokes a little on a bacon strip, amused by Prentiss' blatant double entendre. I'm glad that my mug is pressed to my lips so no one can see how I am smiling behind the rim. The two continue to squabble, really just trying to one up one another more than anything, as the rest of us finish our meals. Once breakfast adjourns, we all go to collect our belongings so that we can leave for Quantico sooner rather than later, although no one but Dave and myself seem to care since two of my agents are still butting heads while the other two are wrapped up in a conversation of their own, something about a cultural reference that turned into a history lesson, thanks to the fountain of trivial information that is Dr Spencer Reid.

Who says that this job ever gets boring?

* * *

_After the whole breakfast fiasco  
Thursday September 16th 2010  
The Behavioral Analysis Unit Jet_

A vibration shakes the jolts the occupants of the jet but, shockingly, it isn't caused by turbulence. Instead it is much smaller and the source turns out to be Prentiss' cell phone.

We are all engaged in respective activities when hear the cellular device buzz to life. Morgan is bobbing his head along to his iPod, Reid and Dave are playing a game of chess and Reid is winning by a landslide, JJ is using the webcam to enhance the experience of instant messaging Penelope, and Emily is flipping through some novel that she must have been hiding away in her bag. Myself? I had just been online looking for some activities to do with Jack this upcoming weekend when I found some things that I hope he will enjoy doing, like visiting the children's museum or going to see some new movies that are coming out to theaters. I am wracking my brain for what my four year old's interests are, since they are ever-changing and I am not usually around to see them shift, when Prentiss jumps up to answer her phone.

She takes one look at the screen and immediately lights up like the fourth of July.

"Hey you," she begins with a chipper voice and she is already on her feet as she heads towards the kitchnette of the jet.

It doesn't take much to hear the conversation but we all fall silent anyway, JJ and Morgan and even Dave obviously interested in whatever Prentiss is talking about and with whom. Reid, however, either doesn't notice or doesn't care but it is likely a combination of the two.

"No, just getting back from a case."

Skip a beat.

"Yeah, no problem."

Soft laughter.

"How about tomorrow then?"

Another pause.

"Great! So drinks my treat, dinner yours?"

Prentiss snorts in amusement and I don't know why but I really want to know what exactly is so funny.

"Pick a place, give me a call, and I'll meet you around six thirty?"

By this point even Reid has picked up that we're all trying not to listen to Emily's conversation.

"Seeya soon, love."

Click!

Disconnected.

"What?" She asks as she tosses some of her dark brown hair over her shoulder, meandering back to her seat and acting as if she it totally oblivious to our consensual questioning gaze. "Seriously guys, knock it off."

So we do.

We drop our attention back to whatever it was we were doing before hand, pretending not to be wondering just what has gotten into Prentiss, and why we don't seem to be invited to know what it is all about. The chess game resumes, the headphones are back on, the typing as picked up, and the novel is once again opened to somewhere in the center where a scrap of lined paper is being used as a bookmark.

The hours of operation for the children's museum are long this weekend and the rates for day passes are exceptionally low; must be some kind of promotional thing but I'm not complaining. Frankly, I can't wait to be home to see the look on Jack's face when I tell him what we have planned for our weekend: going out for pizza Friday night, the museum Saturday, an early matinée on Sunday to be followed up with dinner at Haley and Jess' parents' place. It is going to be a fantastic few days and it is just what we need; time spent as a family.

* * *

_After everyone else fell asleep  
Tuesday September 21st 2010  
The Behavioral Analysis Unit Jet_

"Just staring at the page won't _actually _change the words, you know."

She is right and I hate it.

I've been staring at the same sentence for at least five minutes, stuck for some reason, and even before that I hadn't accomplished much work-wise. The rest of the team, well they had no intention of doing any work from the second we got the jet, the way that they divided and went either straight to sleep or to some quiet activity. Morgan had fallen asleep shortly after Reid did while Dave and JJ had been talking about a few cases that had come across JJ's desk, but after a while the conversation had dissolved since JJ kept yawning and Dave insisted that she get some sleep. I had checked on the two and apparently Rossi had taken his own advice and was fast asleep before JJ was done tucking away the case files that the two had been going over. Which had left Prentiss, who had been sitting across from Morgan with a folder open in her lap.

Distracted, I had let my eyes wander over my teammates, and unintentionally caught Prentiss' eye as she looked up from whatever it was that she had been reading. Then, appearing to have lost interest in the folder, she had crossed the jet to where I am sitting and set herself down opposite of me. She had taken one look at the official documents spread out before me and the likely exhausted expression on my face and spoke in the most sullen and totally serious voice; it was like listening to myself and if it wasn't so eerie it would have been pretty impressive. I didn't smile at her stating the obvious but I wanted to because Prentiss really does have a clever, if not a little deadpan, sense of humor that I've taken a bit of a shine to over the years.

"Maybe I should buy it a drink."

I quip tiredly but it is matched with a small smile playing on Prentiss' lips and I think that maybe I have accomplished something.

"Or you could whip out some interrogation techniques."

It's the first time that I notice but Prentiss doesn't seem to be the least bit tired and it has been a non-stop effort these past few days. She is smiling just a bit but one could see the mirth in her eyes, and I don't think it's all attributed to our conversation. She has been this way for days, the past week and a half really, and even though I am pleased that she's happy I can't put a finger on to _why_ she is feeling so upbeat. Did that sound as negative as I think it does?

"Maybe I'm just tired." I sigh as I close my eyes for a few seconds.

"Even Superman needs to sleep." She responds with a knowing tone of voice and even though I cannot see it, I bet a small smile on her lips.

My own lips curl up at her words but it isn't as sweet as I imagine her smile is, mine is quite wry. "I'm hardly Superman."

Solemn, she nods her head and I wonder if I've zapped the joy right out of her. "Batman, then."

Or not.

"You should get some sleep."

Cocking an eyebrow at me, Prentiss sticks out her hand. "Hello pot, I'm the kettle."

"Clever, Prentiss."

Smirking, she retracts her hand. "It's nice to my efforts are appreciated."

This is nice, this little back and forth, I can see why Morgan seems to enjoy it so much. While the conversation is off of me I take a chance and nod my head in the direction of her folder, planning on asking her about it.

"What about it?" She queries but her tone isn't defensive so I figure it's safe to keep going.

I shrug and fake nonchalance. "Just wondering what has put you in such a cheerful mood."

"Cheerful might be bit of a stretch, Hotch." Emily rebuts but I don't think it is; she's practically glowing.

"But if you _must_ know," she makes it sound as if she really rather not tell me but I figure she is going to anyway so I sit still and try to be patient. "A close friend of mine is engaged to be married and she asked to be a bridesmaid."

A wedding; I should have guessed. Not that Emily Prentiss seems the type to get all excited over weddings, she Is much too down to Earth for that. In fact if Prentiss ever got married I wouldn't be surprised at all if she chose not to wear white and held some small ceremony rather than an extravagant affair. Then again the contrary may be true, after all she did grow up with a lavish lifestyle, to an extent. I could see it; Prentiss being the star of a tasteful and even traditional ceremony, with her family and close friends all there to immortalize the day by taking as many pictures as possible like what had happened at my wedding.

Thinking back to mine and Haley's wedding I can still recall all of the white and pastel colours that decorated the Church, tears of joy shedding from friends and family alike, as well as the moment that I held my newly wed wife to me during our first dance, but most of all I remember the look on my late ex-wife's face as her father led her down the aisle. For a moment I think of Prentiss standing beside the alter, on the bride's side, with a similar expression to Jessica's when she saw Haley in her strapless wedding gown. It is a nice image, one that is light-hearted and has no trace of the filth that we see in our daily lives, and I find myself wishing that Prentiss should be able to enjoy it.

"When's the wedding?"

"August 20th."

Wow, I tend to forget just how much effort goes into preparing a wedding, unless, of course, the wedding is one where David Rossi is the groom, in which case it is more often than not the first place that offers a fifteen minute ceremony for thirty five bucks.

"Your friend must be very excited."

"Friend_s_ actually." She corrects with a smile. "I got sick and tired of Ken complaining that there were no decent men in the world and Lex going on and on about how women thought men were like shoes; love 'em until they're go out of style. Eventually I just set them up and they finally decided to settle down, I guess."

Wait... Ken and Lex? Did I miss something?

"Now I just need to find someone to come with me, which shouldn't be a problem when I mention there's an open bar."

It's my turn to raise an eyebrow. "Who are you bringing?"

Prentiss pauses for a moment and I wonder if I've struck a nerve.

"I don't know yet," she replies with no hint of hurt in her voice. "I'm sure I'll find someone in the next eleven months."

_I'd go._

"Really?"

Did I say that part out loud?

"I've seen and done it before, shouldn't be too different this time."

Why am I still talking?

"That is if you want me to go."

Okay brain, I'll make a deal with you; stop sending words to my mouth and I won't kill you with alcohol later. Got it? Good.

"That'd be, well, great." Emily sounds pleased, if not a little stunned, but pleased all the same. "Takes a real load of too."

Oh good, back to the teasing voice, she's not completely weirded out.

"Thanks, hon." Hon? Why does that sound so... good? "I reall-_ahhh_-y appreciate it."

I blink at her stupidly before suggesting sleep once again and hopefully this time she'll listen.

"Goodnight, Hotch."

Watching her get up, stretch, and crosses the plane to put her folder away in her ready bag I repeat the sentiment.

"Goodnight, Emily."

And it is, I realize as she folds herself into one of the seats and her dark brown hair curtains her face, it really is.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope that you all enjoyed reading this piece of cavity inducing fluff because I certainly enjoyed writing it :D.


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